


Working Things Out

by TMar



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 22:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TMar/pseuds/TMar
Summary: Richie has a few things to work out after nearly being killed by Evil Duncan.





	Working Things Out

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in July 1996 before the episode "The End of Innocence" aired. I like my version better. :)

WORKING THINGS OUT

Joe Dawson was returning to his bar with mixed feelings... No, not  
mixed. With the worst case of doubt he'd ever had in his life. Had he  
done the right thing, letting an evil Duncan MacLeod go? All his  
instincts told him that he should have killed Mac right there in the  
dojo, but he just had not been able to. He had watched Duncan for so  
long, and grown so attached to the man, that killing him was just  
anathema to Dawson. He was Duncan MacLeod's *friend* now, and it would  
have wounded Joe's soul to use that sword. But he knew he should have...  
shouldn't he?

Watchers were not supposed to interfere. No matter what happened,  
they were meant only to watch, not get involved. But when he had seen  
the look on MacLeod's face after the Dark Quickening, he'd known who the  
highlander's first target would be. It was an Immortal battle, and he'd  
once sworn never to interfere in one of those... but these were unusual  
circumstances. He had been unable to just stand there while MacLeod cut  
off Richie Ryan's head. Richie was also his friend, and deserved better  
than to be killed by his mentor.

Joe walked into the bar, and one of his waitresses pulled him aside.  
"That young man who's always in here, Duncan's friend, he's back."

Joe was relieved that Richie hadn't gone too far away. "Oh. Well,  
good," he replied, but she shook her head.

"Not like this." She indicated, and Joe saw Richie at the far end of  
the bar, with what appeared to be three or four liquor bottles around  
him.

"Oh, no." Joe was about to walk forward, but the woman stopped him.

"He's been in here a lot, but he really doesn't look as though he  
should be drinking, Joe. How old is he, anyway?"

Joe sighed. "Old enough." He patted her arm. "Thanks. It's almost  
closing time; why don't you go home?"

She smiled at him and nodded. "I appreciate that. Watching over him  
has been kinda tiring."

When she was out of sight, Joe smiled. His staff knew who his friends  
were and tried to do the right thing. But with Richie...

Joe walked up to him. "Richie."

Richie lifted his head. "Go 'way, Joe. Leave me here in peace with  
the only friends I have left." He indicated the bottles strewn across  
the counter.

"Richie, you'll make yourself very sick." In fact, Joe didn't want to  
know how the young Immortal managed to stay conscious, considering the  
amount of alcohol he must have consumed.

"Doesn't matter," Richie replied. "Can't die."

"No, but you might wish you had." Duncan had once said that to him,  
that alcohol had as much of an effect on Immortals as it did on regular  
people - although Immortals could apparently drink a lot more before  
passing out, the hangover was just as bad.

"Won't," said Richie. "Nearly did die. This is better."

The last customers had left the bar, so Joe left Richie for a minute  
while he locked up the front. When he came back Richie *had* mercifully  
passed out.

Dawson sighed. What was he going to do with the young Immortal? He'd  
seen Richie go from a streetwise young punk to an almost model  
citizen... Richie now knew about art, about business management, about  
entertaining... He'd grown up such a lot in the almost four years since  
Joe had first seen him; it was uncanny. But of course, he'd had to.  
Living with someone who was forced to chop off heads would do that to  
you... and then having to start doing that yourself, well... It was a  
wonder Richie didn't come in here and get plastered every night.

***

Richie woke the next day with a hangover as bad as Joe had said it would  
be. He looked around when he finally got his eyes to focus, and  
recognised the back room of the bar. Joe must have kept him here after  
closing last night. He had absolutely no idea of what had happened since  
the minute he had sat down at the bar counter. Before that... oh, yeah.

Mac had tried to kill him. He'd gone to three other bars before Joe's,  
but since he had run out of the dojo in sweats and a tank top, he  
hadn't had his ID with him, and no one would serve him. He'd been forced  
to go to Joe's, and hoped that Joe would be too busy with MacLeod to  
come back and find him there. Apparently he had, though.

Richie sat up, although his head protested that clearly wasn't a good  
idea. "Joe?"

Joe had been in the front, doing a bit of inventory, and came in bearing  
coffee. "Ah, you're awake."

"Are you sure? I feel like someone rode over me with a truck. My head  
is killing me."

"You'll live," said Joe, sitting on the chair opposite the bed that  
he kept in the back room for emergencies. "Do you remember what  
happened?"

Richie started to nod, but that made it worse. "Yeah. Duncan was  
gonna kill me, and you stopped him." Then a thought occurred. "Duncan!"  
He winced at the loudness of his own voice. "What did you do to him?"

Joe didn't know what to say. 'I let him go so he could carry on  
killing his own kind,' didn't sound too good. "I nearly killed him,  
Richie. I had the sword, he was tied up, he couldn't stop me... But I  
couldn't. I let him go."

"He'll... ow." Richie forced himself to sit up straighter and took a  
couple of swallows of the coffee. It tasted great. "He'll kill other  
Immortals, just like Coltec did. We should have done something for him...  
Shock treatment or something, I dunno. Now he might be out there killing  
mortals, too. He might come back here, and kill us both."

"No." Joe stopped Richie before he would think of any other horrible  
scenarios. "I got a call last night. Duncan left on a ship bound for France."

Richie relaxed, and he hadn't even realised how tense he'd been. Duncan  
wasn't going to come and kill him... but now he was far away from anyone who  
cared. "Why France?"

"The watcher who saw this said he just boarded the first ship he could."

"At least he can't hurt me now."

"Yeah." Joe shifted, then decided to ask. "Richie, what the hell did you  
think you were doing last night?!"

Richie looked away. The pain of seeing his teacher, his father-figure,  
with a sword poised to kill him, had been too great. "I... I just wanted to  
blot it all out, Joe. Everything." And when he said everything, he meant  
*everything*. He hoped Joe would realise this and stop asking him questions.  
To have Duncan do that to him had, more than anything else, brought home to  
Richie that being Immortal did not necessarily mean he'd live forever.  
Duncan had rescued him from an almost certain downward spiral, and he would  
be grateful as long as he lived... but something inside him had shattered  
when the man he looked up to and respected as a father had kissed the top of  
his held and held his katana up high...

Joe saw all this in Richie's face. "Is the pedestal cracking?" he asked.

"What?" Richie moved to stand up, and this time it wasn't so bad; the  
coffee must have been working.

"That pedestal you've put MacLeod on."

"I haven't..." began Richie, but then he knew Joe was right. He hated it,  
but he knew he *had* put Duncan on a pedestal. The worst thing was, even  
when he wanted desperately for Duncan to be wrong, Duncan never was.   
Duncan was always *there*, was always *good*, always *cared*... And to   
see him so cavalier, so uncaring, had shaken Richie badly. He sighed. "Yeah,   
I guess it is."

"He's human, Richie. He's Immortal, but that doesn't mean he doesn't make  
mistakes, and killing Coltec was a mistake." Shooting Duncan to prevent  
Richie's death had also shattered the pedestal that Joe had been keeping  
Duncan on. Duncan was *his* Immortal; Duncan never lost; Duncan was the  
best... Duncan was *good*, a beacon for all others to emulate. And now...  
that Duncan, the one they knew, was gone.

"If he'd stayed here he would have had us," said Richie suddenly. "In  
France, who does he have?"

'Methos', thought Joe, but could not say. He knew that Methos was now in  
Europe with Alexa. If anyone could help Duncan, he could. Maybe he knew of  
some remedy the watchers and other Immortals didn't... Again, Joe kicked  
himself for not having asked Methos more questions when he'd had the  
chance... But then, they both still had time. Alexa didn't...

Alexa didn't, and perhaps it wasn't fair to have Methos off chasing after  
a renegade Duncan MacLeod when he could be spending her remaining time with her... But there was no one else Joe could think of. "I know someone," he  
told Richie.

"Who?"

"Adam."

"Who, Adam Pierson?" Richie hardly knew Adam, and there was still that  
matter of Adam having killed Kristin... "How can he possibly help?"

"He's there, in Europe, now. And you may have noticed that he and Duncan  
are friends, good ones."

Richie had noticed that, but Duncan hadn't *told* him anything about this  
Adam person, and that made Richie wary. "You really think he'll be able to  
help?"

"It's worth a shot," replied Joe, going back into the bar to call the  
ancient Immortal.

When Joe came back Richie had made the bed and was ready to leave. "Joe,  
thanks for keeping me here last night. I gotta go."

Joe sensed that while Richie might be feeling a little less sorry for  
himself, he had yet to work through all the emotional baggage he carried  
from the night before. "Richie..."

"I'm okay, Joe, really. I just need to be somewhere alone, to think."

"About?"

"Everything."

"Yeah. I understand. Take care of yourself, Richie." He held out his  
hand, and Richie shook it.

"You too. Thanks."

Joe watched for a minute after Richie went out of the bar. He knew the  
kid needed to be alone to think; he just hoped Richie wouldn't go too far  
away.

***

Richie didn't go too far away - he went to his apartment and packed a bag.  
Time for another road trip. As he was packing, Richie kept thinking that he  
should go back to the bar and tell Joe... But then Joe would worry about  
him. Joe would ask him where he was going. And Richie knew he wouldn't have  
any answers, because he didn't know. All he knew was he had to get away -  
away from Joe, and away from the memory of his mentor trying to kill him.

He did have to go back to the dojo, though. Close it up, post a notice...  
The dojo had been closed such a lot recently, there were hardly any clients  
left. Not that MacLeod cared, but Richie did. He had enjoyed managing the  
dojo. Perhaps he could get someone to run it while he was away? He stopped  
that thought immediately. If Adam truly couldn't help Duncan and Duncan  
decided to come back, nothing would stop him killing a mortal who happened  
to be in his dojo. Richie wrote a hasty note to put on the dojo's door. All  
it said was, "Closed until further notice." He hoped his last few clients  
would forgive him.

He was coming down the dojo's steps when Joe's car pulled up. Richie  
sighed and mentally kicked himself. He should have been faster - now he'd  
have to explain everything...

But Joe didn't get out of the car. He just waited for Richie to come  
alongside, and then he simply wound down the window and said, "Take care,  
Richie."

"I will."

"If anyone can help him, Adam can."

Richie nodded, shifting his feet nervously. He didn't want to think about  
Duncan right now.

Richie put on his motorcycle helmet, and went over to his bike.

"Richie!" called Joe, and Richie turned back. "Don't lose your head."

Richie nodded, feeling absurdly grateful for that piece of advice. Then  
he snapped down the visor, started his bike, and rode off.

Joe sat in the car for a few minutes, then looked in the direction Richie  
had gone. "Take care of yourself, kid," he said.

***

Richie remembered every state he'd been to the last time he'd done this - so  
he went to states he hadn't visited yet. He didn't know why he felt this  
absurd notion that he had to be well-travelled. He'd been to Spain, France,  
the Netherlands, England... and he still felt he had to visit all fifty  
states?? Perhaps it was because he knew Duncan had... though he found it  
hard to imagine Duncan MacLeod lying on the beach in Hawaii in a set of  
bathing trunks.

Hawaii was the last state Richie visited... and the first where he  
encountered a hostile Immortal. He'd found Hawaii wonderfully relaxing, and  
the part-time job he'd gotten had been fun, too. He had started as a general  
errand boy in... yes, an antique store, but soon the owner had realised that  
Richie knew a bit more about antiques that was usual for someone of his age,  
and had given him a few sales opportunities. 

Richie had been grateful, and he certainly liked the lifestyle in Hawaii. Everyone seemed to rush off to the beach at absurdly early hours. Richie had spent a lot of time doing what he hadn't been able to imagine Duncan doing, and had even started reading while lying on the beach! After going through all Tom Clancy's novels he'd been about to start on another author when he'd thought better of it and gone to a library... where he'd gotten books dealing with history. Ancient  
history, modern history... Scottish history...

He was currently embroiled in the Crusades when he felt the buzz. He  
looked up from the book, and the other Immortal was standing there, looking  
extremely out of place. No one wears a trench coat on a beach in Hawaii, for  
crying out loud. That was the first thing it occurred to Richie to say. "I  
don't think that outfit is quite appropriate," he said with a grin.

The other Immortal ignored the light tone. "I am Clayton Brookes," he  
said. "There can be only one."

The beach was never deserted, but there weren't that many people around  
at this hour, and Richie knew that no one had heard. He put the book down  
and stood up. "Richie Ryan. Where do you wanna do it?"

"The docks, an hour."

"I'll be there." Richie's tone had immediately turned belligerent after  
he was challenged. He put the book away and pulled on a shirt and his  
sandals. There'd be time to get back to his place, change, and get his  
sword. The thought of running away did cross his mind, but this had been the  
first time someone had directly challenged *him*. The other times, MacLeod  
had always been involved. But Richie did know that he'd better call Joe.

He didn't know if he had a watcher or not, but if he didn't, and he ended  
up dying, he wanted someone to know what had happened.

Joe picked up on the fifth ring. "Joe's," was the short answer.

"Joe, it's me."

"Richie?" A very brief pause. "Listen, Richie, MacLeod's fine. You can  
come home now."

"Well, maybe after this." He swallowed. "Joe, I've been challanged. His  
name is Clayton Brookes." He wasn't fishing for information, but Joe told him  
anyway.

"He's renowned for killing new, inexperienced Immortals. I don't think  
he's gone up against someone of, say, MacLeod's ability for decades."

"I have," said Richie, his throat threatening to close on him. "And I lost."

"Yeah, but MacLeod's the best there is. We both know it. And he taught you."

"Do you have a watcher on me?"

There was a long pause, and finally Joe told the truth. "No."

"Then I guess, if I don't call in two hours, you can close my chronicle."

Joe couldn't bring himself to tell Richie that no one knew he was Immortal;  
that he didn't yet *have* a chronicle. So all he said was, "Yeah, okay."

"And Joe... if I don't come back... thanks for everything."

"You're welcome," was the reply, and the line went dead.

Richie looked at the phone in his hand for a couple of seconds, then went  
out to face the first battle he'd ever entered on his own.

***

Joe put down the phone and looked over at MacLeod, who was sitting at the  
bar. "Why didn't you let me talk to him, Joe?"

"Because maybe he needs to be alone right now, to sort through what you  
tried to do to him."

"I..." began Duncan, but Joe cut him off.

"I know it wasn't you, it was all caused by the Dark Quickening. I can  
accept that, but it isn't me you tried to kill. In his head Richie knows you  
weren't yourself, but it might take the news a while to reach his heart, y'know?"

Duncan nodded. "I know." He paused. "A couple of years back, when Darius  
was alive, I told Richie the legend... You know, the one about Darius  
killing the holy man at the gates of Paris. And although I managed to  
convince myself that it was only a legend, that Darius had needed an excuse  
to become the good man he really was, I was still afraid of facing Grayson."

Dawson could guess the rest. "And when you beat Grayson, and his  
Quickening *didn't* change you, you thought it was all a myth."

"Yeah. I know that it was probably because Jim was Hayoka, because of all  
the evil he'd absorbed... his cup finally did have a bottom." He looked at  
Joe. "But how do you explain what happened to Darius? And how can I face  
Richie, knowing that it might happen again someday?"

"Maybe what happened to Darius is as you thought; the guilt over killing  
the holy man got to him, and that's what made him change."

Duncan looked into Joe's eyes. "But we'll never know."

"No, we won't." The pair were sad over friends lost... and one friend  
who'd had to grow into being Immortal in such a brutal fashion.

***

Richie wandered around the docks for a while before he felt the buzz, and  
there stood the other Immortal. "Why do you want my head?" Richie asked.  
He'd understood why certain Immortals fought, but he wondered if he'd ever  
understand the logic of challenging a perfect stranger.

"Because there can be only one," replied Brookes.

"That's it?"

"Yes." The other Immortal advanced, attacking first. Richie stepped back,  
parrying. He should have parried easily, but the memory of Duncan's attack  
was still too fresh, and he barely made it. Brookes noticed Richie's  
hesitance, and pressed his advantage. Richie had to defend more than  
attack... in fact, it was all he could do not to let himself be cut or run through.

Clash. "Is it because there can be only one?" Clash. "That's as good a  
reason as any." Clash. Duncan bowing. Clash. Duncan kissing his head. Clash.  
Duncan raising his katana. Clash. Shots. Clash.

Somewhere in Richie's mind Brookes had changed into Duncan MacLeod,  
attacking him again. And Richie knew in his heart that he could never kill  
Duncan MacLeod... he could never *beat* Duncan MacLeod. He could never...

Pain. A slash across his midriff made the young Immortal stumble, and he  
held his sword up as he had that one night in the dojo when Duncan had been  
fighting shadows... to look up into the face of his executioner... who  
wasn't Duncan. Wasn't even Kristov, who had almost taken his head fair and  
square.

"No!" At the last moment Richie parried the blow, purposely fell  
backwards onto his rear end, and brought both feet up to kick his opponent  
away from him. Brookes fell, which gave Richie enough time to get back on  
his feet and press his own attack this time.

"Just give up, boy. It'll be painless."

Richie said nothing; he wanted to *live*. And, dammit, he wanted to give  
Duncan a piece of his mind when he saw him again... *when*.

"I've said it before: don't call me 'boy'." This time when the other  
Immortal attacked, Richie recognised the move, enveloped the blade, and used  
the first sword technique Duncan had ever taught him, disarming his opponent  
neatly. But he stopped when his sword was at the other's neck.

"Do it!" said Brookes. "Do it!"

"WHY?" Richie yelled at him.

"Because!" the other Immortal yelled right back. "There can be only..."

Richie swung the sword, and finished the job. "...One. I know."

And as the Quickening worked its way into him, Richie knew that this was  
the final catalyst: it was time to go home and confront Duncan MacLeod.

***

When his plane landed, the first thing Richie did was call Joe. He did *not*  
want to meet MacLeod at the dojo; the memories that brought back would have  
overwhelmed him. The bar seemed a safer, more 'neutral' place. Richie would  
have preferred the meeting to be on holy ground, but if Duncan really was  
himself again, that would be showing a distinct lack of trust.

As he walked in the door of the bar, he felt the buzz. So, Duncan was  
there. His eyes adjusted to the darkness in the bar, and Richie saw that  
Duncan had brought moral support: Adam Pierson. Richie felt angry that Adam  
was always around when he wanted to speak to Duncan alone, but there wasn't  
anything he could do about it now. He stopped a few feet away from them.  
"Mac. Adam."

"Hey, Rich." Duncan's voice held trepidation, something that was most  
unusual for him. Duncan was hardly ever unsure of himself.

"Richie," said Adam, then he turned to Duncan. "I think I'll go now and  
let the two of you talk."

"Thanks," Duncan said as his friend left the bar. Then he turned to  
Richie. "Have a seat, Rich."

Richie sat down, still looking warily at Duncan.

Duncan started talking first; he had a lot to say, and a lot to apologise  
for. "Rich, I'm sorry. It... it wasn't me. The Dark Quickening, it seemed to  
bring all my baser instincts out."

"Mac..." began Richie, but MacLeod cut him off.

"No, wait. It was more than that, a lot more. There was something *evil*  
inside me, something that wormed its way in and tried to make itself part of  
me. It *knew* me, Rich, and it knew how to *be* me. I resisted it at  
times... When Joe let me go that night, the evil in me wanted me to kill  
him, but something in me resisted, and I didn't. Maybe it was being 'killed'  
by Joe that did it, but I was able to resist a few times after that, even  
seek help, even though..."

Duncan trailed off, swallowing his confession about Sean Burns. He knew somehow that if he told the young Immortal about Sean, Richie would never   
trust him again. He couldn't face that. "Even though part of me wanted to go on that way. And when Adam came to help me, I let him. I was able to let him help me." 

Duncan stopped and looked at his student. "You have to believe me, Rich, I didn't want to kill you. *He* did, but he's gone."

Richie's eyes were still cold as they regarded Duncan. "Are you sure *he*  
won't be back?"

Duncan nodded. "I'm sure. The evil is still there, but I beat it. Before,  
it controlled me. Now I can control it." Duncan stood up, and opened his  
arms. Hugging wasn't really his style, but he knew Richie needed something  
more than words to convince him. "I'll never hurt you, Richie."

Richie hugged his mentor, relaxing for the first time in months. He  
hadn't even realised that he'd been tensed up all this time. "Mac... you  
realise that even if I'd been good enough to beat you that night, I couldn't  
have killed you."

MacLeod let him go. "That's a mistake, Richie. You have to accept that  
one day such a thing may be necessary."

"No!" Richie said it with some force. "I can't kill you, ever! Mac, I owe  
you my life, I owe you everything. And no matter what happens, I could never  
do it."

Duncan sighed; he'd thought the same about some of his friends and ended  
up being their executioner. But somehow, he knew that Richie wouldn't be  
like that. It wasn't in his nature. Richie had learned to kill to survive,  
and he had only done it three times now, while he, Duncan MacLeod, came from  
a warrior people. He wondered what it would be like to be tossed into  
Immortality, having been born in this century. From what he'd seen of  
Richie, Michelle and others, it wasn't easy. So Duncan merely sighed. "I  
understand, Rich." A pause. "Tell me where you were while I was in Paris."

They sat at the bar while Richie talked. He told Duncan about his travels,  
about his fear, his feelings of betrayal... and about taking Clayton  
Brookes's head. "I don't understand, Mac. That was the only reason he  
wanted to kill me. Because there can be only one."

Duncan had met his share of Immortals who killed for that reason only,  
but they *were* few and far between. Most fought due to grudges, or because  
they saw a weaker Immortal who would make easy pickings. "Some of us are  
only interested in playing the Game and winning the Prize," he said.

"Mac..." By the tone of Richie's voice, Duncan could tell he felt he was  
about to ask a taboo question. "Do you think this whole Prize thing is  
true? That we're all just going to end up dead, except for one? That the one  
will have... I dunno, great power or something?"

Duncan looked away. This was the question he hated the most. "I don't  
know, Rich. I wish I did." Even Methos didn't know, but of course Duncan  
couldn't say that to the young Immortal.

Richie got up, suddenly angry. The tension and fear of Duncan had gone  
away, but now he was mad as hell that they were all trying to kill each  
other for something no one knew for sure even existed. "I hate this, Mac! I  
hate it! One day we'll all be dead, and the last one might not even get  
anything! This is crazy! Or maybe the Game never ends. Have you thought of  
that? New Immortals keep appearing, don't they? Maybe the Game just keeps  
on. And if it does, we don't have to kill each other!"

Duncan was alarmed at the vehemence in Richie's voice. "Richie, calm  
down!"

Richie stepped back, his voice rising with each word. "You calm down!  
You're used to it!"

This made MacLeod slightly angry, too. "Richie!" He grabbed Richie's  
shoulders. "You *never* get used to it. Whether you live forty, four hundred  
or four thousand years, you *never* get used to it! You never get used to  
the running, to the questions you can't answer, to the killing, to the dying.  
Never!"

Joe had come in during the last exchange. "Why do you think so many  
Immortals go nuts?" he asked Richie. "They can't handle it and they go off  
the deep end."

Richie looked from Joe to MacLeod and back again. "And why are some old  
Immortals still sane?"

Duncan sighed, looking at Joe, who shrugged, so Duncan answered. "Because  
some of us let ourselves *live*. We get involved in the mortal world, we  
care for people, we try to contribute. And even though the pain of losing  
a mortal we loved is terrible, it's better than feeling nothing at all."

Duncan briefly thought of Gregor, who'd had to learn to feel, to live, all  
over again.

Richie agreed with what Duncan said. He'd rather have known Tessa and the  
pain of losing her than not having known her at all. He sighed, calming  
himself, and sat down. "You're right, as usual, Mac." He smiled at Duncan.

Duncan had a sudden rush of fatherly feelings. These sometimes overtook  
him when Richie was around. They had never manifested around his other  
students, only this one. Duncan knew that if he died, *Richie* was what he  
wanted to leave behind. He couldn't have kids... but in some way he *did*.  
He cared for Richie the same way he would have cared for a child of his own.  
And the realisation that he had almost *killed* his... *hope*... was  
shocking. He knew he had to say something to Richie, because one never knew  
what the future might bring.

Richie was looking at his mentor oddly. "Mac? Are you okay?"

"What? Yeah. I... Rich, we can't have kids, but I want you to know, if we  
could... you're what I would have wanted in a son."

The grin that came onto his protege's face, the light that shone from his  
eyes, made Duncan very glad that Dawson had shot him that night and saved  
Richie.

All Richie said now was, "Thanks, Mac. I couldn't ask for a better  
father, either."

"Good. Now go to your room," Duncan said in a mock-stern voice, making  
the three of them laugh.

And as he sat there with a friend and a... father, Richie knew that  
everything was going to be all right.

THE END


End file.
